Too Many Slytherins!
by ScrotumSempra
Summary: Oh, dear. Why are there so many Slytherins at Hogwarts this year? And why are they all being so nice? Hogwarts has gone mad! Not scary, mind you. Just sort of bonkers. Pear-shaped, if you will.
1. Chapter 1: How did poor Astoria manage?

"Malfoy, Dorkus!" cried the sorting hat, and a bespeckled boy with large teeth came up. Nobody was surprised when he, the seventh Malfoy of the day and the eighteenth in the past three years, was sorted into Slytherin.

It was a popular theory that the Malfoys were using some sort of spell to increase their birth rate and then shagging like grindylows to have litters of children. 11 years ago, Astoria Malfoy had birthed her largest litter yet by having octuplets. One was a squib, but that was all right. Seven was the most magical number, after all. (The squib, poor Mortimer Malfoy, had perished in an unfortunate accident some years ago. For all their wealth, the Malfoys had proven unable to afford a funeral for the child.)

The families of Crabbe and Goyle (never Goyle and Crabbe, as this would not be in alphabetical order) were apparently using a similar method to have many children. As a result, the current glut of new first-year students was comprised almost entirely of Slytherins.

This had been happening for three years now. The dwindling tables for Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw all watched with concerned eyes, whispering that their houses were on the verge of extinction.

The older Slytherins couldn't help but be concerned, as well. For one thing, the sheer amount of new students coming to their table meant that there was less space. For another, a great many of their new first years seemed, well...beneath the standards of the Great Salazar Slytherin. The appropriately-named Dorkus Malfoy had all the awkwardness of a Longbottom, and he wasn't the only one. Some of the new Goyle children were chewing with their mouths open, making terribly peasant-like chewing noises in the process. A new Crabbe girl had a profoundly annoying laugh that would probably have to be beaten out of her.

Granted, the first-years were only eleven, and eleven-year-olds were obnoxious at the best of times. But there were concerns that the plan to populate Hogwarts with Slytherins alone may have backfired. What if the plot to increase the number of Slytherin children had in fact led to *inferior* Slytherin children? What if they had chosen quantity over quality? And how could one be the best when everyone else was, too?

With the sorting ceremony concluded, the alcoholic charms professor whispered "Wingardium Leviosa," and Headmaster Dumbledore levitated into the air for new-year announcements. It wasn't the real Dumbledore, mind you, but rather his portrait. Nobody wanted the job of Headmaster this year (McGonnagal had long since given up trying to put this crackpot school in check) so people had decided that this was the best plan, given how widely loved Dumbledore was. But even Dumbledore's portrait had only agreed to do it after being threatened with paint thinner.

The levitation spell was necessary for anyone to see him, because, as he was a portrait, he had no ability to stand up.

"This school is cracked," said Dumbledore. "It has gone cray cray. But I guess that's to be expected when we all have PTSD from the war. Mostly thanks to you lot," he added, pointing with a flat, painted finger at the overstuffed Slytherin table. "Honestly, I don't know why we even still let you in at this point."

The other tables laughed. The Slytherin table didn't, but Portrait Dumbledore didn't care that he was insulting what was currently more than half the school. Portrait Dumbledore didn't give a shit. Portrait Dumbledore knew he was already dead.

"Now it's time for the school song!" said Portrait Dumbledore, and everybody at the overstuffed Slytherin table groaned. Well, except for Patrick Parkinson. "What's wrong with the school song?" he shouted, turning red. "I LIKE the school song!"

"It's the same bloody song every year," moaned Serpantus Malfoy, whose name nobody, not even his parents, could take seriously.

But this year, the song was different. The lyrics made no mention of "Hoggy-Wotty Hogwarts."

Rather, it just seemed to be Portrait Dumbledore saying "Fuck this shit, I'm on crack!" over and over.

It was going to be a very strange year.


	2. Chapter 2: Scorpius has a plan

Everyone expected Hogwarts to become bully city with so many Slytherins running around. The strange thing was, this turned out to not be the case at all.

"We need to turn around people's perceptions about Slytherin," said Scorpius Malfoy, the eldest of the great Malfoy clan, while standing before the others in the Slytherin Common Room. "Isn't that right, Albus Severus?" he added, elbowing the Potter child saddled with a name that was arguably even more unfortunate than Serpantus.

"Scorpius is right as ever," said Albus Severus Potter. They both blushed like anime bishounen boys. It was supposed to be a secret, but everyone knew they were shagging.

"In all seriousness folks," Scorpius continued, "we have numbers on our side here at Hogwarts, but in the wizarding world at large our PR is in a shoddy spot right now. They blame our house for Moldytort."

Nobody flinched. Slytherins were badass that way.

"So what we need is to turn their frowns upside down!" Scorpius said. "See, folks, we are Slytherins. We are cunning snakes. We do whatever it takes to get what we want. Maybe in other times this means bullying people into being our servants, but those days are past us. This is an era of networking-an era of fake smiles, false friendships, and soulless career growth. In today's world, getting what we want at any cost means pretending to be nice people even when they're absolutely beneath us."

Some Slytherins mumbled in confusion at this.

"I'm serious," said Scorpius. "It might seem beneath our dignity but it really is the most logical way forward. We shall make other people's lives better so that they trust us enough to be our friends, and then we can use that to our advantage. It's just like in an office. You've got coworkers you don't care two knuts about but you've got to play nice so that they'll vouch for you if one of them gets a job at Google and you want them to take you with them."

The Slytherins scratched their heads in confusion. Out of all the houses, they had the fewest Muggle borns among them, and the only two Slytherins to take Muggle Studies were Scorpius (who had done it to piss off his father) and Albus Severus Potter, who had done it just to have an elective that would require no effort, and allow him to stare longingly at Scorpius for an hour or so. He, of course, laughed at the joke, even though he hadn't paid enough attention during class to know what a Google was.

"Probably should have realized that one wouldn't land," Scorpius muttered sheepishly. "Anyway! I know those little shits in the other houses all seem quite punchable, but let's dial it back a bit. If we make them love us, then our reputation will soar, and there's no place we can't go."

"Brilliant, Scorpius!" Albus Severus cheered.

The other Slytherins frowned. It made sense, but it seemed like a deeply unsatisfying plan.

"Why should we listen to these fags?" said 11-year-old Dorkus Malfoy. He hated Scorpius, partly because Scorpius was older, and partly because Scorpius was his brother.

His sister Marvola Malfoy, who was TOTALLY not named after a certain Tom Marvolo Riddle, punched him in the arm. "Shush, Dorkus! Don't you know that Slytherin is the gayest house?"

"She's right you know," said two third-year Crabbe twins.

"Besides," said Marvola, face suddenly turning bright red. "They're ADORABLE!"

She scribbled fanfiction into her notebook.

"That's our brother," Dorkus said awkwardly.

Marvola ignored him. He didn't understand that it wasn't about liking either of the boys in particular, but rather the tormented romance they shared! Plus she was related to just about every Slytherin boy at school, and she was NOT about to go out with some Hufflepuff riff-raff. Maybe a Ravenclaw boy. Maybe. But only if he was REALLY full of himself.

Dorkus, for his part, had inherited his father's predilection for apples, and knew that no one-neither man nor woman-could satisfy his cravings like an apple could. Dorkus was also 11, which may have contributed to this notion.

And so a new era for Slytherin house began: one that was kinder, faker, and decidedly gayer.

Portrait Dumbledore-who kept leaving his painting to have messy painting sex with a portrait of Grindlewald that was hiding somewhere in the Room of Requirement-thoroughly approved.


End file.
